


For What Ails You

by GloriaVictoria (orphan_account)



Series: My Promising Career in Espionage [4]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/GloriaVictoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond taps into his nurturing side when his quartermaster falls ill, and finds his efforts rewarded rather nicely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For What Ails You

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the My Promising Career in Espionage series of drabbles centered around 007 and Q's daily life.

As far as Bond could remember, Q had never been late for work; as a matter of fact, he made a point to be _early,_ arriving at least an hour before the rest of his branch to arrange things as he liked and so on. Today, however, as 007 swaggered down to receive his gear for his next assignment, Q was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a young woman in an oversized sweater (was it in the dress code?) and pencil skirt shuffle over to him, pushing her pale hair behind her ear.

“007, good morning. Q instructed me to give you everything you needed for—“

Bond held up his hand to interrupt her. “Where exactly _is_ Q?” 

The girl shifted her weight nervously from one black pump to the other. “He’s…sick.”  Bond’s brow furrowed. “He wouldn’t disclose any more than that, but he told us he’d be taking one of his sick days, so we just assumed…”

“I see. Thank you, miss.” Bond pocketed the small lockbox she had given him and, instead of heading to the airport, took a detour to the apartment complex where Q resided. The door was, strangely, unlocked, and he walked in to a deathly quiet living room. There, on the sofa, was a lump of blankets, from under which a long, slender forearm poked out, hanging limply over the edge of the cushions. Half-empty bottles of water and Alka-Seltzers littered the table, and the television softly whispered “Here’s looking at you, kid.”— _Casablanca_ ; somehow Bond wasn’t terribly surprised that Q was a classic film junkie. Carefully tiptoeing to the mass of blankets, he pulled them away to find Q, pale and sweating, underneath.

“Nnghhh…” Q winced and held his hand up to his eyes to block the sudden light.

“Q? You look awful.”

“Observant as always. Isn’t there somewhere you’re…ugh, s-supposed to be?” Bond raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“Perhaps, but I could say the same for you.

Q shivered and yanked the blankets from Bond, wrapping them around himself desperately. “I’ve caught some sort of…stomach bug. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Ahh. Well, I can’t rightly go barging into deepest Africa without my quartermaster, now can I?” Q rolled his eyes.

“If I recall, you’re going to Germany, not Africa. For Christ's sake, you sound like a bloody imperialist. At this point I’d be grateful if M shipped you far, far away from here.” Pursing his lips, Q curled in on himself and continued to shake. “Please, Bond, just…let me be.”

“I don’t think so. Give me a moment.” Q watched blearily as Bond removed his blazer and cufflinks, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. “The sooner you’re back on your feet, the better, am I right?” Q nodded, and Bond disappeared into his kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. “Where is the peppermint oil?”

Q laughed weakly. “You’re not serious, are you?” He managed to ground out before another wave of nausea made him withdraw back into silence. Bond smiled and looked through Q’s fridge—a small nib of ginger in a plastic bag caught his eye. Taking it from the bag, he sliced it and soaked it in hot water, letting it steep before carrying it back to his quartermaster in his favorite mug.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help, I promise.” With shaky hands, Q took the mug and carefully sipped. “I’m surprised that you didn’t think of ginger to begin with. Don’t you know it helps with nausea?”

“Of course…I did.” Q murmured between gulps, averting his eyes from Bond’s. The two sat in silence, Bond watching Q empty the mug and sighing contentedly, the nausea already ebbing away. _Casablanca_ had given way to _To Have and Have Not—_ it must have been a Bogart kind of day. “You know,” Q wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them to his chest. “Chances are you will be catching it now. Idiot.”

“And?”

“We can’t have MI6’s best agent taken down by the stomach flu.” Bond leaned forward and kissed Q’s brow, still damp with sweat.

“Well, I’ll just count on you to take care of me.” If Q could flush, he would have, but instead he reclined against Bond’s chest, pulling his blanket to his chin.

“…Deal.” 


End file.
